


Morning Light

by Sselene



Series: Incubus!Stiles [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mention of Knotting, Not Canon Compliant, Sleepy Sex, Unrequited, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 05:12:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2680391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sselene/pseuds/Sselene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s nothing better than waking up to see Stiles beside him, sleeping serene and peaceful, his lips parted slightly and his eyelashes casting tiny shadows on his cheeks.<br/>Scott feels comically poetic in those mornings when he can watch Stiles, and his best friend would probably tease him about the kind of thoughts he makes, but he cannot stop himself. Stiles is perfection, and there’s nothing that he loves more than watching him sleep and seeing him safe and sound.<br/>(It would be even better if Stiles were his and only his.)</p>
<p>Part of the Incubus!Stiles but can be read without the others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Light

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I said you wouldn't have to wait... but then I changed more or less everything that has to come in the story XD Sorry!

Waking up curled against Stiles is not something new, but has surely taken very different connotations now that they’ve started this new kind of relationship.

If their parents knew, they probably wouldn’t let them keep sleeping together, and Scott cannot imagine losing this, so he feels just a little guilty about lying to his mother (‘omitting the truth, not lying’, Stiles says, even though Scott is quite sure is the same thing).

The truth is that there’s nothing better than waking up to see Stiles beside him, sleeping serene and peaceful, his lips parted slightly and his eyelashes casting tiny shadows on his cheeks.

Scott feels comically poetic in those mornings when he can watch Stiles, and his best friend would probably tease him about the kind of thoughts he makes, but he cannot stop himself. Stiles is perfection, and there’s nothing that he loves more than watching him sleep and seeing him safe and sound.

This morning is one of those mornings.

Scott wakes up on his side, an arm around Stiles’s waist and a leg tangled with Stiles’s, who is on his stomach, with the face turned toward him, snoring softly. The sheets cover him, but Scott knows he’s naked underneath them, because they’ve fallen asleep just after making love.

He smiles remembering the night before, the way Stiles kept murmuring his name and kissing him and grasping him tightly while he moved in him.

It’s always good, making love with Stiles, but the night before was one of the best. Scott is disappointed that good memory must be tainted by what happened just before that, at the Jungle.

He knows he doesn’t have any right to be annoyed by what Stiles and Danny did on the dance floor, that he and Stiles aren’t in a close relationship, that Stiles is free to do whatever he wants – he would just prefer if what Stiles wants to do is being with him, and only him.

He sighs, nosing Stiles’s shoulder and then kissing it, looking for comfort in the touch.

He wants Stiles only for himself, but he doesn’t want to stop him from exploring. He’ll be there when Stiles needs him and wants him, and it’ll be enough.

Which is exactly what happened last night.

Scott still bristles when he thinks about it, when he remembers the way Danny reeked of Stiles and arousal. He thinks he flashed his eyes, but he really hopes he was wrong – either way, Danny didn’t seem to notice it.

On the bright side, Stiles hadn’t come, when he stopped them, nor had he seemed inclined to keep doing something with Danny. Scott is still – guiltily – pleased by this, just like he was pleased by this yesterday, when they got back home and Stiles asked him to make love.

His cock stirs at the memories, twitching against Stiles’s leg, but the other keeps sleeping.

Scott kisses his shoulder again and again, watching him for sign of awakening, and when he doesn’t see any, he starts feeling a little bolder. He moves his knuckles up his back, toward his nape, admiring the Goosebumps that start covering his skin; then he goes back again. He hesitates just a moment at the border of the sheets, but then he keeps going, uncovering the small of his back, the curve of his ass.

Stiles sighs, and Scott stills for a moment, but the other is still sleeping.

Scott’s kind of feeling like a creeper, but not enough to really care.

He pushes away the covers, admiring Stiles’s naked form. He moves two fingers between Stiles’s cheeks: he wants just to touch him a little, circling his hole, but then his finger slips in without him really trying to.

Stiles sighs again, moving, and Scott take back his hand, blushing hard.

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmurs, peppering Stiles’s skin of kisses.

“’tis okay,” Stiles slurs, moving against the mattress. “’gain.”

“You’re not even really awake yet,” Scott says, kissing him again.

“I know…” Stiles admits, smiling even though he keeps his eyes closed. “’tis nice li’e this.”

“It’s nice while you sleep?” Scott asks confused.

“Yeah…” It’s the only answer he receives, and it might be just a sigh. “Wan’ you.”

“When you’re awake,” he assures him.

Stiles inhales deeply, then he opens his eyes, looking at him.

“Scott,” he says, clearly trying not to slur. “I want you to…”

Scott doesn’t answer immediately, so that Stiles’s eyes are closed again when he does it.

“You want me to… while you sleep?”

“’m not sleeping,” Stiles replies, sighing. “Jus’ relaxing…”

“I don’t know, you seem quite sleepy…”

“Yeah,” the other admits. “’tis okay, though, you don’t ‘ave to.”

Scott doesn’t reply, because he’s not really sure what to say. They’ve never talked about this, exactly, even though they have had a lot of sex in the mornings. But Stiles has always been way more awake.

It’s also true that he seems quite convinced of what he’s saying, and Scott wants to make him happy. If this is what Stiles wants to be happy…

“Are you sure?” He asks again, because h e needs to be sure.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, moving his hips to offer himself up. “Want you.”

Scott isn’t strong enough to say no.

He moves to straddle Stiles, but he doesn’t sit on him; he stays up on his elbows while he covers Stiles’s nape and shoulder with kisses and small bites, filling up his ears with Stiles’s content sighs.

“Love you,” he murmurs against his skin.

Then he sits back on his heels, mindful of not sitting on Stiles. He’s not sure what to do, to be honest. He’s not really used to have so much control. Stiles is always the one who does things, and asks for things, and suggests things; Scott just accepts them, because Stiles knows exactly how far can he push, so he always suggests things Scott is okay with.

But now it’s his turn to do and suggest, and he isn’t sure what is expected from him.

“Scott,” Stiles murmurs, opening an eye, and Scott is immediately on him, kissing his cheek and then his neck.

“I’m here, I’m here, just relax…”

Stiles looks like he wants to say something else, but, strangely, he stays silent and closes his eyes again.

Scott kisses him again and again, because he loves Stiles’s skin too much to stop; but he also starts caressing his back, gripping it tightly. He moves a hand between his cheeks, circling his hole: again, the finger slips in easily, like it was expecting it.

One finger becomes soon two fingers, and while Scott moves them inside Stiles, Stiles starts rutting lazily against the mattress, gasping breathily on the pillow.

“Yeah?” Scott asks, because he needs to know he’s doing okay even though it already looks like it.

Stiles sighs some sort of agreement, probably not coherent enough to say something more; but for Scott is enough.

He takes away his hand, kissing Stiles’s shoulder at his disappointed sigh, and takes the lube that yesterday fell on the floor. It’s becoming every time clearer and clearer that there isn’t really the need to lube himself up to take Stiles, because he can accept it even if doesn’t use anything, but he still does it.

Now that Stiles cannot really articulate a real ‘no’, he’s even more careful than usual in slicking himself.

But then he’s pressing the tip of his cock against Stiles’s hole, and the other moves his hips up to accept him easier, and he cannot do anything but filling him up in a single, swift movement.

This time Stiles sigh is echoed by Scott’s.

“Love you,” Scott says again, starting to move in him. “Love you so much.”

“Me too,” Stiles murmurs, moving blindly his hand on the mattress until he finds the one Scott’s using to support himself.

“Yeah?” Scott asks, pressing his forehead between Stiles’s shoulder blades and breathing deeply.

He doesn’t want to come too soon, but Stiles’s so _soft_ , so malleable, and he’s making this tiny breathy gasps which are so different from the noises he usually makes, and still so _Stiles_ , Scott cannot stop himself from loving.

And what he just said about loving him… it’s not the first time Stiles said that, during sex and in a lot of other moments, but this time it feels even more sincere.

He’ll think another time about why, exactly, the words ‘I love you’, or similar sentences, make him hard. In this moment he wants to think just about Stiles, about the way he starts rutting against the mattress, seemingly against his own control, about the way he sighs his name like it’s some kind of benediction.

“Love you,” Scott repeats a third time, the softness of the morning making him more emotional than usual. “Love you so much.”

The breath hitches in his throat, breaking the last sentence, but Stiles doesn’t seem to mind – or to notice, really. He just keeps moving and sighing, his movements becoming jerkier, the fingers on his hand grasping tighter.

“You coming?” Scott asks.

He tries to keep at bay the shivers of pleasure that run along his spinal chord, so that he can fix all his attention on Stiles, on Stiles’s gratification, on Stiles’s orgasm; but it’s hard to do it when Stiles starts clenching around his cock.

“Yeah,” Stiles stutters.

The fingers of his free hand are twisting in the sheets, his toes pointed on the mattress and the muscles of his shoulders are tense under Scott’s lips. Scott can feel him tremble, can feel his hips jerking against the mattress with uncoordinated movements.

Scott grabs his hip with his free hand, using the grasp as leverage to thrust deeper and harder in Stiles’s body, just like he knows the other likes it. Stiles starts immediately gasping and moaning louder (and later Scott will be happy that his mother isn’t at home with them, because, in this moment, he really doesn’t care about it at all) and it doesn’t take long for him to come, with a shiver that shakes him whole and that makes him clench even harder on Scott’s cock.

Scott tries to resist, but it’s hard to.

His own climax hits just some moments after, while Stiles’s starting to relax again, forcing another surprised moan out of him, and another shiver.

Scott lets a shuddering breath, pressing his forehead against Stiles’s back, kissing slowly his skin and licking away his sweat where he can reach it without moving too much.

“Liked it?” He asks when he’s capable of speaking again.

“So much,” Stiles answers, but then he makes a noise of protest.

“What?” Scott asks surprised and worried, freezing where he was trying to pull out.

“Stay,” the other says. “Inside.”

“Inside?” The werewolf repeats, but he’s filling him again.

“Inside,” Stiles confirms. “You can… sleep on me.” He’s slurring again, his words said almost on top of each other. “Like a knot.”

Scott hesitates a moment to find the best way to sleep on Stiles like it was asked without crushing him under the weight of a werewolf. In the end, he falls half on the mattress and half on Stiles, with their legs tangled together so that his cock can stay buried in the other – even though he’s not sure it’ll stay there for long when it’ll go totally flaccid again.

“What’s a knot?” He asks when he’s settled.

“Wolves ‘ave it,” Stiles answers. “So the sperm stays inside.”

Scott isn’t sure he understands, but he knows it’s useless to ask Stiles some kind of clarification, while he’s almost sleeping again. He’ll ask later, when they’re both more awake.

“Danny likes it.”

He tries not to freeze at the mention of the other boy. He knows he should keep silent and pretend he didn’t even hear, but he cannot help the way that single name makes his stomach clench.

“Danny?” He rasps.

“Mh-hm,” Stiles confirms. “Wants you to ‘eep ‘is sperm.”

Scott doesn’t reply because Stiles is obviously more asleep than awake, if he thinks Danny wants _Scott_ even though he was totally having sex, or some kind of sexual encounter, with Stiles just the night before.

Still, maybe Stiles is sure this is how it is? He thinks Danny wants Scott?

Does he think _Scott_ wants Danny?

They’ve never talked about it. For Scott, it was obvious that Stiles was the only one – the only male, at first, and now the only one at all. He hasn’t even needed to think about it, to wonder, to ask himself if he’s gay, or bisexual, or what… Stiles was the only one.

But maybe Stiles doesn’t know this?

“Stiles,” he says, before he can change his mind. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

Stiles doesn’t answer, and Scott would worry to have done something wrong, but Stiles doesn’t tense up either. He doesn’t react at all, really.

“Stiles?” He calls again, glancing up.

And then he groans, because of course, _of course_ , Stiles would fall asleep again on this kind of confession.

“I don’t know why I love you,” he admits against his skin, and, in his sleep, Stiles hums in agreement.


End file.
